


one glance and the avalanche drops (one look and my heartbeat stops)

by glueskin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 'What kind of tension?' Yes, Alcohol, Chronic Pain, Literal Sleeping Together, Multi, Rating might go up, Sports injuries, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: the universe won't wait for you.udai tenma has spent the last three years doing the bare minimum necessary to get by with all of his previous dreams and aspirations buried far behind him, forever out of reach - and then a chance encounter has him meeting tsukishima akiteru, who brings with him the memories of everything tenma had been forced to let go of.
Relationships: Tanaka Saeko/Haiba Alisa - mentioned, Tsukishima Akiteru/Udai Tenma
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	one glance and the avalanche drops (one look and my heartbeat stops)

**Author's Note:**

> dont look at me i told my friend sully 'im gonna write udai tenma fic' and it was just going to be a quick thing maybe 2k words and then i couldnt stop writing and 6k words later im still not done
> 
> basically this is a story about depression and recovery and being gay and, like, i know all of you are thinking "hyde thats literally every story you write" and you know what? you arent wrong so i cant say shit. however this is also a story about finding new dreams and allowing yourself to let go of what could have been to grab onto what could be. 
> 
> this is a very deep way of me saying i really just wanted to know what happened to tenma and then went insane and banged this out. its 3am i have a fever and have barely slept in four days. thank you for your time. please look forward to part 2. the rating might go up to E but who knows
> 
> additional note real quick i seriously binge caught up to hq like last weekend so apologies for any mistakes...yah

He should have gone home.  
  
Tenma knows this. He should have refused Tanaka when she insisted he join them for the post-game dinner, but as soon as Tsukishima had looked at him and said _ you should come too_, he couldn’t say no.  
  
He should have at least refused the drinks. He has class tomorrow. But the burn of the alcohol made the warmth of Tsukishima’s leg pressed against his own far more tolerable; it made him less anxious about the way Tanaka grabs at his shoulders, laughing in his ear and out-drinking every single one of them.  
  
The kids have long since gone to sleep. They have to wake early to head back to Miyagi and as the night crawls on, Tenma keeps thinking up reasons to leave and never actually voicing them.  
  
It’s Takeda—the teacher and adviser, Tenma fuzzily recalls—who puts a stop to the drinking at last, slamming down a pitcher of ice water in the middle of the cluttered table with enough force to jar Shimada and Takinoue awake from where they had been slouched against each other.  
  
“It’s after midnight,” he says, voice rough. “Put the shochu away and stop trying to give yourselves liver poisoning—we have to be up at dawn to drive the kids back.”  
  
Tanaka groans, face pressed into Tenma’s hair. She’s so _ touchy_, he thinks, though it doesn’t bother him as much as it would if it were someone else—he knows full well her inclinations, and she his.  
  
“Nights just gettin’ started,” she mutters, but relinquishes her bottle when Takeda holds out his hand for it.  
  
“Sorry to keep you so late, Udai-kun,” Takeda says when he swaps out Tenma’s nearly empty glass of shochu with water. “I hope you’ll be okay in the morning. You have class, don’t you?”  
  
“In the early afternoon,” he admits, reaching for the water, the glass cold and damp under his palm. His elbow hits Tsukishima’s when he does, but when he glances over at him he seems more asleep than awake despite the way his eyes are open. Tenma doesn’t let his gaze linger on his alcohol flushed cheeks.  
  
“What, seriously? You should’ve said,” Tanaka says, though she doesn’t sound very sorry. She probably would have kept him even if he _ had _ said.  
  
“It’s fine. This was, um. Nice.” The words sound unsure even as he says them, but Tenma means it. It was nice.  
  
“Should I call you a cab?” Takeda asks, shaking Ukai’s shoulder and shoving a glass of water at him until the man grumbles and takes it.  
  
“Ah…” does he have enough for the fair at this time of night? His campus isn’t too far, but he doesn’t get paid until Sunday and he might not be able to eat at school if he spends too much on—  
  
“I know that face,” Tsukishima mumbles, slouching forward and blinking his glazed eyes in order to find some semblance of clarity. “Just stay here. I got a room, so. You can head back in the morning when the busses are running.”  
  
“Aki moves fast,” Tanaka laughs, breath warm against Tenma’s scalp. His face burns at both the offer and Tanaka’s implication. She finally lets him go, downing the entirety of her glass of water in one go the same way she had been chugging her alcohol.  
  
“I don’t want to impose,” he says, but his politeness is at war with his wallet. When Tsukishima blinks down at him, expression more awake than it had been moments ago, he already knows he’s lost.  
  
“It’s fine,” Tsukishima says. “City taxis are crazy expensive at this time of night.”  
  
It’s true. Last time Tenma went drinking with some classmates after exams at a bar off campus, the taxi back to the dorms had cost almost 12,000 yen—the only reason he had survived that cost is the fact he and his classmates split it between themselves.  
  
Tenma doesn’t say this. He doesn’t say yes or no, just finally lifts his water; the chill of it spreads right through him as it goes down, offsetting the stuffy heat that keeps trying to make its home in him.  
  
“I brought spare toothbrushes in case the kids forgot any,” Takeda says as he helps Ukai up. Shimada is trying to drag Takinoue from where he’s slouched back onto the floor again. “If you’re staying, Udai-kun.”  
  
It’s either stay or spend an ungodly amount of money he frankly can’t afford to let go of on a twenty minute taxi ride.  
  
“I’ll stay,” he says with slight resignation. “Sorry for the trouble, Tsukishima.” God. He’d almost said _ senpai _ out of habit.  
  
“Don’t mind it. Saeko, you good?”  
  
Tanaka had swayed as she stood, groaning and lifting a hand to her head. Tenma glances up, slightly alarmed, putting down his glass in case she falls.  
  
“I’m good, I’m good. I’ll room with the two laggards over there,” she says, waving her hand towards Shimada and Takinoue. She makes her way over to help Shimada heft Takinoue up.  
  
With the two of them, they’re able to successfully get him on his feet and start the journey to their room. Tanaka seems pretty comfortable with them, so Tenma doesn’t worry about the arrangement.  
  
He stands carefully. His legs are shaky, but he can somehow carry himself; he hears Ukai and Takeda murmuring to each other behind him, something about checking on Hinata and leaving him fresh water and cooling compresses.  
  
Tsukishima is frowning when Tenma glances down at him. His fingers are spread out against the table, palms pressed into the surface as though he’s about to push himself up, but he’s just frowning at the wood instead.  
  
“Tsukishima?” He says cautiously. Maybe he’s having second thoughts?  
  
“My leg is asleep,” Tsukishima says, sounding strained. He shifts his legs under him—he’d been sitting in a weird position, one leg stretched under the table and pressed against Tenma’s, the other folded under him. He grimaces, face scrunching, and Tenma chokes back a laugh.  
  
“Here,” he says, crouching slightly to grab for Tsukishima’s arm without thinking about it. Tsukishima makes an uncomfortable sound as he’s helped up, shimmying his leg to try and get the blood flowing despite the sound of pain that he makes in the process.  
  
“Room is, uh—upstairs. By the balcony,” Tsukishima says, dropping an arm over Tenma’s shoulder and slumping most of his weight onto him. His face is close to Tenma’s neck, cushioned by the thick cotton of his hoodie.  
  
Tenma doesn’t think about it. He really doesn’t. He grabs at the back of Tsukishima’s shirt they stumble out of the room, Takeda stopping them at the door to give him a cheap toothbrush, still in its packaging, that he stuffs gratefully into his pocket.  
  
Tsukishima and Tenma both stare at the foot of the stairs for a long moment.  
  
“One at a time?” Tenma suggests.  
  
“One at a time,” Tsukishima agrees. He had drank more than Tenma, who at least paced himself somewhat well despite all of Tanaka’s goading.  
  
Of course, he’s still a bit of a lightweight, so he’s definitely going to feel it in the morning.  
  
He and Tsukishima slowly make their way up the stairs. Tsukishima remains pressed too close, breath warm against Tenma’s neck and hair ticking his throat and jaw. Surely he doesn’t need to slouch so far down—it can’t be comfortable for him, with his height.  
  
Tenma doesn’t say anything about it. He just grips the back of Tsukishima’s shirt tighter, trying not to think about each exhale against his skin as they go.  
  
They make it up the stairs without incident. The building is an old home-turned-inn, so there are no key cards and the doors only lock from the inside—Tenma fumbles with the doorknob, shoulders beginning to hunch under Tsukishima’s weight.  
  
There’s one futon.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Tsukishima mumbles. “Granny thought Saeko and I were a couple.”  
  
“You shared a futon with her?” Tenma asks and Tsukishima makes a muffled noise of affirmation.  
  
“Not last night. I worked, so I couldn’t come until today. But we did before,” he pauses, then says, “Shimada an’ Takinou are basically married, so she doesn’t mind rooming with them. And she knows I know she’s not into guys, so.”  
  
“Oh,” Tenma mumbles. There’s not really much else to say to that. Tsukishima finally lets go of him but the warmth of his body pressed against his lingers.  
  
“Yeah, she—” Tsukishima starts to say, losing his footing and tripping over his duffel bag, falling face first into the futon.  
  
Tenma can’t help it. He laughs, even as he moves forward to try and help Tsukishima up—they still have to brush their teeth, after all—but Tsukishima kicks out a leg and he ends up tripping, too, laughter breaking off into a startled yelp as his face hits the pillow. His hair splays out, falling into his face and making it hard to see.  
  
He lifts a hand to shove his hair out of the way. Tsukishima’s face is close and he’s laughing at Tenma, now, and even though he feels dizzy and nauseated from the fall he can’t bring himself to be mad.  
  
“Your face,” Tsukishima says through his giggling, turning his own face into the bedding to smother the sound.  
  
“What about it,” Tenma asks, kicking the side of Tsukishima’s leg.  
  
“Your hair,” Tsukishima gasps, muffled from the cotton. “It’s so long now. I never thought…”  
  
_ Thought what_, Tenma wants to ask when he trails off.  
  
That he’d stop playing? That he’d grow his hair out? That they’d see each other again?  
  
“It suits you,” Tsukishima finally says, turning his face again to look at him. “You looked good with short hair too, but. It’s refreshing, I guess.”  
  
Tenma doesn’t want to admit he’d only grown his hair out because he had no energy to go get it cut. He hadn’t taken care of himself in his first year of university—at least, not as well as he should have in the emotional and sometimes physical sense. He’s still working on it. It had taken everything in him just to attend.  
  
“Thanks, I think,” Tenma mumbles, wishing his hair were in his face again.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
_ This is it_, Tenma thinks. Tsukishima is finally going to ask why he doesn’t play volleyball anymore. Surely, after two years of watching Tenma play, he wouldn’t buy the simple ‘there were other things I wanted to do’ he had given to Hinata.  
  
His leg aches.  
  
“Sure,” Tenma says around the trepidation crawling up his throat.  
  
“What’s your major?”  
  
It’s unexpected. Tenma stares at Tsukishima, who is staring back at him—he looks genuinely curious.  
  
“...Literature,” he finally says. He doesn’t say he hadn’t finalized it until his second year, nor does he admit that he had only chosen it for a lack of anything else to do.  
  
He hadn’t been able to decide. He hadn’t known what to do with himself and so he had chosen the option that he could accomplish with minimal fuss from his family and was realistically in line with his grades.  
  
_ Not that I know what to do with myself now anymore than I did then_, he thinks sourly, but Tsukishima is smiling slowly with surprise.  
  
“Literature, huh? What kind?”  
  
He looks and sounds like he honestly wants to know. As though what Tenma studies might possibly interesting or worth talking about.  
  
“Modern Japanese,” Tenma says, tongue heavy in his mouth. Tsukishima’s hair looks like it’s glowing in the dim light.  
  
“I never would’ve guessed,” Tsukishima says. _ Neither would I_, Tenma doesn’t say.  
  
“What about you?” He asks instead. He doesn’t want to be talking about himself. There’s nothing worth saying.  
  
Tenma can’t recall Tsukishima talking about much other than schoolwork and volleyball in the club, but he had also been unable to interact with him too much back then. Aside from the year that stretched between them, Tsukishima was benched. They were never paired up for practice.  
  
He remembers admiring the way Tsukishima came each day, without fail, even as so many others in his position left. He practiced diligently. He never once complained about Coach Ukai’s methods. Even when a mere first year like Tenma had overtaken his position on the team, he kept going.  
  
He wonders if Tsukishima resented him back then. He had never been brave enough to ask.  
  
_ He still might_.  
  
Across from him, Tsukishima looks almost embarrassed.  
  
“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he says instead of answering Tenma’s question. He furrows his brow.  
  
“I won’t laugh,” he says, then tacks on a, “Promise.” Tsukishima doesn’t meet his gaze.  
  
“Art history,” he mutters, as though that’s something to be embarrassed about. Tenma can’t remember Tsukishima ever discussing art before, but for some reason he doesn’t feel surprised.  
  
“Why would I laugh?” Tenma asks, nudging Tsukishima’s leg with his foot again. “That’s pretty cool.”  
  
He wants to slap himself when he says it. _ Pretty cool_. How lame can he get? But he means it, and he doesn’t know how else to put it.  
  
Tsukishima smiles again, so maybe it wasn’t that lame.  
  
“Yeah? You’re pretty cool, too,” he says, then pauses and makes a face. “And I’m really drunk, huh.”  
  
“Me too,” Tenma admits. Not as drunk as Tsukishima, but still. It’s getting harder to focus and stay awake.  
  
“We should get ready for bed,” Tsukishima says, but despite his words he doesn’t move. Neither does Tenma, despite the desire to brush his teeth and peel off his hoodie.  
  
“We really should,” Tenma agrees.  
  
Tsukishima keeps looking at him, smiling, and Temna realizes he’s smiling too.  
  
After what feels like forever, Tsukishima finally shifts to push himself off of the futon, groaning with the effort. Tenma follows suit, propping himself up with his elbows first and wincing when he presses his weight on his left knee. He’s glad his hair hides his face once more, giving him time to smooth out his expression.  
  
“Bathroom is...across the hall. You go first,” Tsukishima says, reaching for the bag he’d tripped over. “I’ll get changed.”  
  
“‘Kay,” Tenma says through a yawn, slowly standing. He sways only for a moment before he finds his balance; Tsukishima holds up a travel-sized tube of toothpaste for him to use, which he takes gladly before he leaves.  
  
Out in the hall, Tenma closes the door behind him. The bathroom is blessedly empty of anyone else when he goes in.  
  
Standing in front of the mirror above the sink, he remembers Tsukishima saying _ it suits you _ as he tugs at the length of his hair.  
  
“Does it?” He mumbles to himself. He’d been thinking of getting it cut at long last. His mother goes crazy whenever he visits home, scolding him for keeping it so long when he barely puts in the effort to take care of it.  
  
_ You looked good with short hair, too, _ Tsukishima had said. His face burns. The implication that Tsukishima had paid attention back then—enough so to remember what he looked like with any sort of clarity—makes him feel hot.  
  
_ Get your shit together, Tenma. You’re his old kouhai. He’s just being friendly. _  
  
He tells himself this, over and over, as he tears open the cardboard backing of the toothbrush Takeda had given him. He brushes his teeth, rinses his mouth, and barely remembers to use the toilet so he won’t wake up hungover _ and _ needing to piss.  
  
Washing up, he glances at his reflection in the mirror once more. There’s nothing worth looking at; his hair is long and he’s inherited the thick softness of his mother’s, but that’s about it. He has split ends. He barely brushed it that morning. The dark shadows beneath his eyes stick out against the pale color of his skin, more washed out than it ever had been in high school.  
  
He doesn’t get out much, now. Just for class and the occasional drinks.  
  
Tenma sighs. He’s being stupid, he knows. His mind is fumbling over so many things; how nice Tsukishima looks now, how nice he had looked in high school; how it had felt to be in the Tokyo Metropolitan gym again, standing not on the court but in the stands.  
  
Part of him had hated it. Standing there watching—the nostalgia and longing he had felt at the sight of Hinata leaping into the air, the way his heart had surged at the sound of the ball being slammed into the ground.  
  
Mostly it had made him realize how much he hates himself. He’d given up—on volleyball and on himself.  
  
Seeing Hinata and Hoshiumi of Kamomedai—and Tsukishima, who still plays despite it all—had truly driven that fact home.  
  
Oh, but he can’t think about it now. Not yet. It had been easy not to when surrounded by people as they ate and drank; it’s harder now, with the alcohol making him feel hope and misery both, alone in the bathroom and staring at his pallid reflection.  
  
Tenma dries his hands elbows his way out of the bathroom. Tsukishima is already waiting in the hallway, yawning and scratching his neck.  
  
“Hey,” Tsukishima says as if they hadn’t seen each other moments ago. He’s only wearing shorts and a loose shirt; Tenma doesn’t let himself look down at the expanse of his legs.  
  
“Hey yourself,” Tenma says, smiling despite himself as he steps out of the way. “I left the toothpaste on the counter.”  
  
“Alright. Take whichever half of the futon you want,” Tsukishima says, shuffling past him with another yawn.  
  
Only when the bathroom door shuts does Tenma move. He drags his feet into the room, tugging off his thick hoodie and shivering at the chill that seeps in even through the walls of the inn.  
  
He debates his pants as he drops his hoodie by the futon. In the end he leaves them on, not wanting Tsukishima to see or ask. He keeps his tee-shirt on, too, and slowly lowers himself down to the floor.  
  
He tugs back the covers of the futon, crawling into the side he had fallen onto earlier. And tugging his phone out of his pockets to put on his hoodie. He lays on his back, staring up at the spiderweb of worn cracks in the ceiling.  
  
Tsukishima returns before long.  
  
“I’m turning off the light, okay?” He says when he shuts the door behind him. Tenma makes a vague noise of acknowledgement; the room grows darker, still illuminated by the pale light of the moon outside. Tenma hadn’t realized the curtains were open.  
  
He doesn’t mind, though. Not when he glances over to Tsukishima crawling into the futon, hair looking silver instead of gold.  
  
“Sorry if I kick you,” Tsukishima mutters as he tugs the covers up. “I’ve been told I’m a restless sleeper.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Tenma says. His lashes flutter, eyes struggling to stay open now that it’s so dark.  
  
“Mm. Goodnight, Udai.”  
  
“Night, Tsukishima.”  
  
There’s a bit of shuffling as Tsukishima gets comfortable. Tenma shifts a little, too, and eventually closes his eyes and tries to sleep. He’s too aware of Tsukishima’s slowly evening breaths, of the foot touching his ankle, of the faint sounds of Tokyo traffic.  
  
Tenma rolls onto his right side, shoving his arm under the pillow and resisting the urge to lift his knees and curl up.  
  
At some point, lost in the sound of the city and Tsukishima’s breathing behind him, he manages to find sleep.

* * *

Tenma is a relatively deep sleeper. Even so, he gets pulled out of his strangely dreamless sleep by a combination of the sound of people rushing about in the halls, the students loudly waking each other up and dragging one another about, and a persistent ache in his hip. The thud of each footstep seems to connect straight to his skull, aching between his ears and making him regret letting Tanaka pour him more than one drink.  
  
He yawns into his pillow, blinking his eyes open and squinting. With sleep-blurred vision he realizes he had turned over in his sleep—he’s laying on his left side instead of his right, facing Tsukishima. The realization makes him grimace.  
  
As his vision settles, he sees Tsukishima in greater clarity—still asleep despite all the noise, somehow closer to Tenma than he had been last night.  
  
“Tsukishima,” he whispers. Tsukishima’s face, lax with sleep, scrunches slightly as he furrows his brow and mutters something unintelligible in response.  
  
“Tsukishima,” he repeats, slightly louder, and Tsukishima grumbles and turns his face into the pillow.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Tenma kicks his leg out, knocking his foot into Tsukishima’s. He makes another irritated sound but this time his eyes blink open.  
  
Tenma hadn’t noticed last night, but this close he can see flecks of honey gold in the warm brown of Tsukishima’s eyes.  
  
“Tenma?” Tsukishima rasps, voice throaty with sleep. Tenma, not Udai, and the sound of it brings a flush to Tenma’s cheeks.  
  
“Everyone’s waking up,” Tenma says. Tsukishima groans, rolling onto his back and reaching to grab his pillow and drag it down his face.  
  
“My fucking _ head_,” he says, muffled by the pillow, and Tenma tries not to laugh—Tsukishima kicks him for the lack of success.  
  
“How are you not dying?” Tsukishima asks pitifully through the fabric.  
  
“I paced myself a bit. I still had more than I should have, though...I’m not used to strong stuff,” he admits. He usually just drinks sake or beer.  
  
The door opens violently with a thud. Tenma startles, rolling onto his back and wincing at the ache in his hip and knee; Tanaka Saeko stands in the doorway looking far too refreshed considering how much she’d had to drink.  
  
“Up and at ‘em, boys. Tenma, the kids are done washing up, so you can use the bath or just rinse off if you want. We’ve got breakfast ready.”  
  
“What time is it?” Tsukishima asks, finally pushing the pillow off his face.  
  
“Almost five. We’re scheduled to leave by six, so get up before I drag you down the stairs,” Tanaka says with distressing cheer. She moves to close the door, but pauses halfway and says, “Nice bedhead, Tenma!” before slamming it shut with a cackle.  
  
Tenma groans this time, forcing himself to sit up. The blankets pool around his waist as he reaches to tug at his hair, realizing he doesn’t have a brush. Maybe he really should cut it.  
  
When he glances down, Tsukishima is staring up at him.  
  
“What?” Tenma asks, lowering his hand and feeling self conscious. Tsukishima lifts a hand to cover the back of his mouth through a yawn.  
  
“Nothing, just—you can use my brush if you want. Are you gonna take a bath?”  
  
Tenma probably should. Well, he definitely should; he probably doesn’t smell great. Subjecting people on the bus to the lingering scent of alcohol and sweat would be pretty humiliating.  
  
He doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn’t want anyone to ask. But…  
  
“Udai?” Tsukishima says carefully. Tenma squashes the disappointment at hearing his family name.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says, pushing his hair over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll...I’ll wash up.”  
  
“Me too,” Tsukishima says, sitting up with what seems like great effort. “Ugh. At least all the kids are done, so it won’t be crowded.”  
  
“Small mercies,” Tenma mutters and Tsukishima laughs.  
  
Tsukishima pushes himself up, standing and groaning as he stretches and cracks his neck. Tenma slowly follows suit, carefully pushing himself up with his right leg. Despite that, it hurts when they leave the room, Tsukishima hefting his duffel bag along with him; thankfully it doesn’t show on his face.  
  
It’s easy to ignore when they enter the bathroom across the hall to brush their teeth. It’s not as easy when the ache creeps up from his hip and knee and up towards his lower back as they go down the stairs, gripping the railing for support.  
  
They pass the Karasuno managers on the way down; the blonde one looks at Tenma with wide, anxious eyes from behind her senpai’s shoulder, but the third year gives a polite nod and keeps walking up.  
  
“There you are!” Tanaka calls, ducking her head out from the dining room. “Food will be here when you’re done. Tenma, you can use my blow dryer, okay? I left it in there.”  
  
“Thanks,” Tenma says, bewildered, but Tanaka is already out of sight. He feels touched by the unexpected thoughtfulness of that gesture.  
  
“I have an extra towel you can use,” Tsukishima says as they walk towards the bathing area. “I brought two just in case Kei forgot one like he did last time.”  
  
“Thank you.” Truthfully, he hadn’t even thought about how he would dry off. He’s really been out of it.  
  
Tsukishima shoulders into the bathing area. It’s empty of anyone else, though steam still clings to the mirrors and the air feels warm with heat.  
  
Tsukishima drops his bag and starts taking off his clothes immediately. It shouldn’t make him feel embarrassed, but it does. He’s about to take off his own shirt when Tsukishima pauses, thumbs already in the waistband of his shorts.  
  
“Ah, that’s right. My brush is at the top of my bag if you want to use it,” he says, echoing his earlier offer.  
  
“You sure? With hair like mine I might leave a lot,” Tenma warns. Tsukishima shrugs.  
  
“I’ll just pull it out later. Don’t worry about it,” he says, then shucks off his shorts. Tenma looks away, leaning down towards the mentioned bag instead. Tugging open the zipper, the brush is indeed on top of the towels folded there, and Tenma carefully goes about brushing the knots out of his hair.  
  
He’s more thorough about it than he usually is. Part of it is a stall tactic; part of him genuinely wants his hair to look decent for once. Tenma doesn’t follow the train of thought to find the reason why.  
  
It doesn’t take long to brush his hair, much as he wishes it did. Putting the brush back, he reluctantly begins to take off his own shirt, dropping it on Tsukishima’s bag. His pants and boxers follow suit; he glances towards Tsukishima, already seated on a stool and fumbling with the water temperature of his shower head.  
  
Tenma gives himself just another moment. He bends his left leg, reaching down to rub at the tender muscles of his knee and thigh, clenching his teeth at the throb of pain that goes up to his hip.  
  
He really. Should not have slept on it. He spends a minute kneading the skin and trying not to think of how ugly the scars are.  
  
When Tenma finally makes himself go sit, Tsukishima politely isn’t glancing his way—he’s too busy scrubbing himself down with soap, anyway, and Tenma rolls back his shoulders when he sits and makes a pleased noise at the popping sound he gets.  
  
It should feel awkward, quietly bathing next to someone he hasn’t seen in years. It doesn’t—at least, not as much as Tenma had thought it might, he thinks as he holds his hand under the showerhead before turning the knob slightly further towards _ hot_.  
  
When it’s good enough, he shuffles himself and his stool forward, shuddering with relief under the weight of the hot water spraying down.  
  
The heat of it all helps, as does the soap; he hadn’t fully realized how gross he had felt until he starts scrubbing himself clean.  
  
“Here,” he doesn’t expect Tsukishima to say, but he squints through the water obscuring his vision to see Tsukishima glancing his way and holding out a travel-sized bottle.  
  
“Shampoo?” He asks, reaching for it.  
  
“If you don’t mind using mine, yeah. ‘S fine if you want to wait until you’re home, though,” Tsukishima says.  
  
Tenma takes it.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, hoping the heat he feels in his face doesn’t show—or if it does, it can be excused as being from the hot water.  
  
Tsukishima turns his water off, standing. Tenma hears him walk behind him, towards the towels, and focuses on washing his hair. Tsukishima’s shampoo is surprisingly citrusy, leaving him smelling faintly of lemons as he rinses it from his hair.  
  
When he turns the water off, he immediately feels a towel drop onto his head, startling him.  
  
“Saeko’s blow dryer is plugged in on the counter—I’m gonna go eat before it gets cold, okay?”  
  
“Right,” Tenma says, resisting the desire to look over his shoulder as he tugs the towel further down over his face. “I’ll be out in a minute.”  
  
“No rush. There’s still time,” Tsukishima says. The door opens, cold air sweeping into the humidity that has built up, and Tenma shudders as it closes.  
  
For a moment he just sits there, face covered, head bowed, shivering and wet. Tsukishima hadn’t said anything—possibly hadn’t even seen. It should be a relief.  
  
Somehow, it really isn’t.  
  
Tenma tugs the towel off of his head entirely, standing up to dry off. He wrings the excess water from his hair before he heads over to the counter of toiletries where Tanaka’s blow dryer is, staring miserably at the mirror there.  
  
He looks like a drowned cat.  
  
His lingering hangover means the sound of the blow dryer makes him want to die but it’s better than going outside with wet hair in this weather. Even then, by the time several minutes have passed, his hair is still damp.  
  
It always is. With hair as thick as his it takes far too long to dry.  
  
He tries to dry it further with the towel with minimal luck. In the end, he brushes his hair once more while it’s still somewhat damp, changing back into the clothes he’d worn yesterday.  
  
Despite the fact his clothes aren’t clean, Tenma feels somewhat refreshed as he guiltily cleans out Tsukishima’s brush before stuffing it back into the duffel bag, hefting it onto his shoulder as he leaves the room.  
  
“—ot like that,” he hears Tsukishima saying as he approaches the dining area.  
  
“I think it’s cute,” Tanaka says, sounding delighted.  
  
“Shut up and go get that Russian girls number instead,” Tsukishima huffs and Tanaka makes an inarticulate sound of annoyance; when he walks into the room, she’s leaned across the table to get her hands in the mess of his hair as he struggles not to spill his rice.  
  
Takeda is standing aside at the stove, smiling serenely.  
  
“Good morning, Udai-kun,” he greets when he sees Tenma.  
  
“Good morning, sensei,” Tenma says, ducking his head. Takeda had told him to just call him by his name last night, but it’s a habit even if Takeda isn’t _ his _ teacher.  
  
“Morning, Tenma! Feeling refreshed?” Tanaka asks, letting go of Tsukishima to slap the open space at her side.  
  
“I’d feel better if you weren’t so loud,” he complains without any real bite as he puts aside Tsukishima’s bag and carefully lowers himself down beside her.  
  
She laughs; Takeda is kneeling across from him and sliding a fresh mug of coffee and a bowl of rice with tamagoyaki before Tenma is finished getting comfortable.  
  
“Eat up. You’ll need it after last night,” Takeda says.  
  
“Thank you, sensei,” Tenma says, though Takeda waves it off with a smile as he stands back up.  
  
“I’m going to check on Hinata. There’s more rice if you’d like, as well as coffee still in the pot. Tanaka-san, could you make sure your brother has all of this belongings in order before we leave?”  
  
“Will do, Take-chan!” Tanaka gives a sloppy salute as Takeda leaves.  
  
“How are you like this,” Tenma mutters as he takes the chopsticks laying across his bowl. “You were drinking that shochu like it was water. How.”  
  
“She’s always like this,” Tsukishima says across from him, lifting his own coffee. “Every damn time. Apparently she was even worse at the summer training camp.”  
  
Tenma’s confusion must show—he can’t speak, not with a mouthful of rice—because Tanaka says, “Hinata and his setter, Kageyama, had remedial lessons. I had to drive ‘em into the city a bit late.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised,” Tenma mumbles around the rim of his mug. Well. He’d been like that, too. He had been terrible with studying, awful in math and English—his senpai had needed to sit him down more than once to help.  
  
“Because you were the same way,” Tsukishima says, grinning behind his own coffee. Tenma must make a face at him as he shoves a roll of tamagoyaki into his mouth, because Tanaka laughs.  
  
“You don’t have to say it,” Tenma grouses and Tanaka slaps his back, still cackling, before using him to push herself up.  
  
“I’m gonna make sure Ryuu hasn’t forgotten to pack his underwear or somethin’. You two finish up—ah, I’ll get that hoodie from Aki’s room, too.”  
  
“My phone should be with it,” Tenma says. It’s only after the words leave him does he realize—had he texted his roommate at all last night? He had sent one to let him know he might be home late because he’d met some old classmates, but not that he wouldn’t be coming back at all. He’d even turned his ringtone off so as to focus on the match…  
  
_ Sorry, Arata, _ Tenma thinks, swallowing. He’ll take the next dinner shift to make up for worrying him.  
  
“I should have said it last night, but...sorry about all this,” Tsukishima says. Tenma lifts his head from his mostly-eaten breakfast, brow furrowed, and Tsukishima rubs at the back of neck without meeting his gaze.  
  
“Dragging you out, I mean. You ended up staying the night and everything...are you sure you’ll be okay in class later?”  
  
“I’ll survive,” Tenma says. “I had a good time.”  
  
It’s true. Despite his fears of being pressed further about volleyball, he had fun.  
  
Tsukishima smiles, relief visible in his expression. Had it really mattered to him? Tenma smiles, too, helpless.  
  
“I’m glad. Hey—” Whatever Tsukishima had intended to say is interrupted by the sound of someone crashing into something; someone laughs and he hears Tsukishima’s brother say, “I told you to watch the damn floor, Kageyama.”  
  
Across from him, Tsukishima puts his face in his hand.  
  
“He’s way rougher than you, huh?” Tenma asks sympathetically. Tsukishima talked about his brother sometimes, back in the club—worrying about his difficulties making friends and the like.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, he is. I’m glad his teammates seem to understand it’s just how he is, but I do worry about other people…”  
  
“Akiteru-san, Udai-san,” someone says; Tenma turns and it’s the third year setter standing in the doorway, looking far too refreshed given the fact he must have barely slept. “Sorry, it’s time to check out. Are you finished?”  
  
“We will be in a moment. Thanks, Sugawara,” Tsukishima says. The setter—Sugawara—smiles, hurrying back out of sight.  
  
Tenma looks back at his breakfast; there’s only a bit of rice left in his bowl—he leaves it, taking the last roll of tamagoyaki and popping that into his mouth as he gingerly pushes himself up.  
  
Tsukishima stands with his own dishes; they make their way to the small counter, cleaning up together quietly.  
  
“Tenma, catch!” He hears Tanaka holler when he steps into the hallway; as soon as he turns he gets a faceful of cotton, the dark fabric of his hoodie smacking him right in the face. Tanaka howls as he grabs it to keep it from falling to the floor—without it obscuring his vision, he sees her slapping her knee as she laughs.  
  
“Your expression—” she cuts herself off, still laughing, and Tsukishima coughs a laugh into his own fist.  
  
Tenma rolls his eyes, tugging his hoodie on over his head. His hair itches the back of his neck but he resists the urge to pull it out. It’s still a little damp.  
  
“Here, here...your phone,” Tanaka says, calming her giggling down to hand it to him.  
  
“Thanks, Tanaka. For the blow dryer too,” Tenma says, and she waves him off.  
  
“No worries. It was really good to see you again, you know? Talk about fateful encounters,” she jokes. That’s all it is, but it’s kind of true—if Arata hadn’t told him that Karasuno had made it to Nationals, if Tenma hadn’t given in to the nagging desire to go see them, then…  
  
“I also put my number in your phone,” Tanaka says with a cheeky smile. “Keep in touch, okay?”  
  
“How did you unlock it?” Tenma asks, disbelieving, and she just claps his shoulder as she walks past, hollering _ Ryuu, zip up your coat or else!! _  
  
“Best not to question her,” Tsukishima says, shrugging into his own jacket. “Will you be warm enough with that? It’s colder than yesterday.”  
  
“I’ll be fine until I get back. My uni isn’t too far,” Tenma says. Well. He might catch a cold, but he’s trying not to think about it as he lifts his hood to obscure his damp hair.  
  
When they step outside, it _ is _ cold—no wonder he awoke with more pain than usual. The darkness makes it feel even colder than it actually is, the sun is barely beginning to peer through the thick clouds on the horizon.  
  
The kids are already shoving each other onto the bus they had taken into the city. Ukai is yawning at the entry, a cigarette held in his gloved hand.  
  
“Hey, Udai.”  
  
Tenma glances up. Tsukishima’s looking down at him, face already reddening from the cold breeze,  
  
“Can I see your phone?”  
  
No way, Tenma thinks, even as he brings it back out of his hoodie pocket and unlocks it. He hands it over to Tsukishima wordlessly.  
  
“It’s fine if you don’t, but...Saeko isn’t the only one who wouldn’t mind keeping in touch,” Tsukishima says as he fumbles with Tenma’s phone. “Also, you have like ten unread texts and your battery is at less than 10%.”  
  
“I didn’t expect to be out so long,” Tenma admits. “I’ve already braced myself for my roommates wrath.”  
  
Tsukishima cracks another smile, handing the phone back to him. He stuffs it back into his pockets, feeling oddly warm despite the cold.  
  
“Let me know next time you’re in Miyagi,” Tsukishima says. “We can hang out again.”  
  
“Sure,” Tenma agrees, dazed. “I’ll—text you later, so…”  
  
Tsukishima’s still smiling. Tenma’s voice fails him; a particularly cold wind has him shivering, his whole leg aching with it.  
  
“One more thing,” Tsukishima says, hand lifting once more to rub at his neck nervously. “You can...call me Akiteru instead, if you want.”  
  
Under the weight of Tenma’s stunned silence, he nervously adds, “Just—it feels weird, right? After being in school together, and...well, there’s my brother…”  
  
“Okay,” Tenma says numbly.  
  
“Okay?” Tsukishima—Akiteru—repeats.  
  
“Only if you call me Tenma,” he amends, and Akiteru laughs.  
  
“Tenma,” he says, and it sounds even better than it had when it had been a half-asleep mumble. “Alright. I’ll see you around, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah. Have a safe trip, Akiteru,” Tenma says. He wonders if the red in Akiteru’s face is only from the cold and the wind and tells himself it must be.  
  
They part ways. He waits until the bus and Tanaka's van are both gone, waving as they hit the road; Hinata sees him through the window on the back of the bus, bundled in what seems to be like four different coats and sweaters, face pressed into the window. He waves back at Tenma until he accidentally hits Shimada, dozing beside him, in the side of the head.  
  
Tenma drops his hand. Alone in the cold, the bus stop feels a hundred miles away instead of a few meters up the road.  
  
He used to love winter. Now, limping down the sidewalk, leg weaker than usual, he hates what it does to him. It’s partially his own fault for skipping out on his exercises the past few weeks, distracted as he’s been by his studies.  
  
Still. Winter never used to hurt so much.  
  
As he waits for his bus, he clutches his phone in his pocket, thinking of the way Hinata had looked at him—bright, admiring. Of Tanaka, dragging him along by the arm; and of Akiteru and how his weight had felt against him the night before, of the way he smiled when Tenma called him _ Akiteru_.  
  
It hurts. The pain throbs up from his knee to his hip but somehow…he thinks he might feel hopeful as well.  
  
For what, he isn't exactly sure.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> did you like this? heres a fun fact. i love coffee... my account is glueskin.


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